


All (We) Want (or, Lost Opportunities)

by eirabach



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Missing Scenes, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9553964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eirabach/pseuds/eirabach
Summary: So the discord CS Writers' Hub have a whole bunch of opinions on where, when and if CS got it on in canon.Here are a few of them.





	

**1\. Neverland**

He can feel the weight of her stare on the back of his neck as he turns from the helm, her regard following him as his invisible companion as he moves to go below.

She’s been sitting at the bow since sunset, the sky spreading before her like a sea of stars, but her face has never turned towards them, nor has she looked down at the glittering carpet of the ocean below. Her attention has been fixed, wholly and completely, on him.

It makes him nervous in a way he hasn’t felt in centuries - her silent perusal combined with the thrill of his newly discovered feelings leaving him quite lightheaded.

He wants her to watch him, but more than that he wants her to _want_.

He slips a hand into his jacket pocket in search of his flask - anything to soothe his frayed nerves - but he comes up empty.

“Lost something?” she calls, holding his flask between finger and thumb, her lip curled sardonically. “You’re not the only pirate around here.”

“You need only have asked, Swan,” he says, shuffling over with hand outstretched. To his surprise she pulls the flask back, holding it close to her chest and watching him with hooded eyes.

“Is that true?” she asks, her voice low.

“Is what true, love?” he asks, snatching for the flask and scowling slightly as she refuses to hand it over.

“That I only have to ask.”

Her gaze flicks down his body as she speaks, then rises to fix on his lips.

Killian swallows hard.

“Maybe you should go below,” he ventures, oddly unnerved at the way she’s still focused on him. “Get some rest.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” she says, her tongue coming out to wet her lips and gods above but he can already taste her. “Do I only have to ask?”

He draws back slightly, his hand wandering to his belt and his eyebrow lifting. It’s safer this way - this flirtation, this dance - it’s something he’s perfected over centuries. Something he can rely on when his traitorous heart starts pounding out her name.

“Well I don’t know, love,” he says, bravado in every sway of his hips. “Why don’t you try?”

She juts her chin out, shoulders back, body taunt, and he thinks he might have misjudged her.

“I’m tired,” she says. “I’m tired and I don’t want to go below, because below is where my ex is, and my fairytale parents, and the woman who raised my son. My son, who I already lost, and I almost lost him _again_ and if it weren’t - ”

She’s trembling, just a little, her body betraying her even though there’s fire burning behind her eyes, and he almost reaches for her only he’s afraid to be burnt. She set him smoldering in the jungles of Neverland with one kiss and if he touches her now - if he touches her now he’ll be cinders and ashes.

“If it weren’t for you,” she spits from between gritted teeth. “I’d have lost them _all_.”

“No you wouldn’t,” he shoots back, more certain than he’s ever been. “You wouldn’t have lost them, Swan. You’re a fighter. You’re the _Savior_. You’ll always win.”

She takes a deep breath, her eyes flitting closed before opening to fix on his.

“Will I?”

“I know it.”

She’s on him in seconds, her lips just as rum-tainted and soft as he remembers, her body just as forceful against his own as she pushes him back against the guardrail, her hands in his hair, at his collar, skimming under his coat.

“I want to forget,” she mutters breathlessly against his jaw as her hands slide lower and lower. “Hook, I want you to make me forget.”

“Here?” He curses himself for the crack in his voice, but they’re flying a fathom above the ocean’s surface and her over-protective father is dozing only feet below them. “Are you quite certain?”

“Didn’t take you for the shy type,” she says, her grin wolflike against his throat. “You said I only had to ask. I’m asking.”

“In that case,” he breathes, gathering his senses enough to pull her body against his own, his hand smoothing over the hot skin of her back before it works its way lower, her skintight breeches falling victim to a pirate’s quest for treasure as he works them over her hips, her sighs more precious than gold. “I am at your service.”

He turns her to face the endless sky, holding her close to his body with his arm while his fingers work to draw ever more delicious sounds from her mouth.

“Look at the stars,” he tells her as her head lolls back against his shoulder. “See how unchangeable they are? They’re fixed, as we are.” He runs kisses down the side of her throat, stopping to suckle lightly at her pulse point and revel in the way her tight walls flutter around him. “We can’t change our pasts, Swan, any more than we can change the stars. Only live with them.”

“You’d know,” she gasps out, grinding down against him as he works her clit with his thumb, her arm coming up to grasp the hairs at the back of his neck.

“Aye,” he twists his fingers, crooking them against that place that he knows will make her fall, and holds her tighter as she buries her cries in the collar of his coat, committing her every sound, her every twitch, to memory because he knows already she’ll never ask again. “That I do.”

–

**2\. Post CPR**

“I’m still mad at you,” she spits as she peels wet leather down his legs, her mouth rough against his pulse point - the throb of his heartbeat simultaneously soothing and enraging her as she scrapes her teeth lower. “Don’t think for a second I’m going to forgive you for this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he pants as she bites down - hard - on his collarbone, his grunt of pain morphing into a groan as she finally takes him in hand. “This is far preferable to forgiveness anyway.”

She wants to hit him, she realizes as she squeezes him just a little harder than she usually would, wants to scream and shout and drown him herself, but she contents herself with sucking a bruise into the damp skin of his chest, her hand moving in time with the answering jump of his cock.

He sags back slightly against the back of the tree she’s pushed him up against, and she swats at his hand as he tries to pull her closer - the platitudes she can see blooming on his pale kiss-bitten lips not at all what she wants to hear.

“I thought you were _dead_ ,” she spits. “I thought you were _dead_.”

“I know,” he mutters as she releases him, his eyes full and soft and unbearable. “Swan, I’m so sorry, I’m so - ”

She drops to her knees, cuts him off with her tongue, laving one long stripe to the underside of his cock before she’s taking him in - the prickling of tears at the corner of her eyes intensified as she forces him to hit the back of her throat again and again and -

His hand is gentle in her hair, his thumb coming to wipe at a rogue tear on her cheek, as he slows her frantic movements. She chances a glimpse up at him and sees his color high again, his skin flushed neverland red as she swirls her tongue around the head of his cock, his eyelashes fluttering as she takes a breath and sighs against him.

“I’m sorry,” he says as her hand comes up to clutch at his hip, his eyes closing entirely as she laps at the sensitive underside. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” she hisses, but there’s no heat in it now, not now the fire within her has been banked only to be relit between her thighs, her free hand reaching to stroke the soft skin between his as she wraps her fingers around the base of his cock while his winds itself into her hair and pushes her infinitesimally closer to where he’s aching for her mouth, solid and straining and alive.

She hears the dull thud of hook piercing wood as she opens her throat and swallows him down, her nose brushing wet curls as she works her other hand between his cheeks, her name a whispered prayer in the cold forest air, and something rises up inside her - something she’d thought lost the moment she’d chosen - chosen _him_.

He comes with a shout - hot and salty and with his hand tangled in her hair - and when she looks up he’s lost, his face slack as he struggles to hold himself up, and she can’t resist smiling around him before she releases him with a wet pop and a gentle, relieved kiss.

There’s more than one sort of magic, after all.

–

**3\. Enchanted Forest**

She tries to sleep, she really does, curling up on her side on the forest floor with her eyes squeezed shut against the flicker and flare of the fire, but it’s hopeless from the off.

Behind her closed eyelids she watches as her mother burns, the crackling of their campfire a macabre soundtrack to her nightmare, and when she opens them -

When she opens them she sees him.

He sits near to the fire they’ve lit, keeping guard over the sleeping figures of Snow, Ruby, and David on the opposite side of the clearing, and doing a pretty terrible job of pretending not to be looking at her. She knows because she’s doing a pretty terrible job of not watching him.

She’s been doing a pretty terrible job of _that_ since the beanstalk. In this case, practice does not make perfect.

“Are you tired?” she asks on the third occasion she opens her eyes to find him watching her, longing writ large over his face. “I can take over if you want?”

He shakes his head, poking disconsolately at the fire.

“You need your sleep, Swan.”

“Ugh,” she rolls onto her back and folds her arms across her chest. “Tell my body that, then.”

She can feel the weight of his stare change somehow, and when she risks a glance she sees him looking at her with a strange combination of calculation and fear.

“What?”

“I’ve - ” he coughs, clearing his throat, and she quirks an eyebrow at him. “I have an idea to help you sleep. If you’re amenable, that is.”

“You can try,” she scoffs, rolling away so that her back is to the fire. “Give it a shot, I guess.”

“All right,” he says, softer now, and closer. “I will.”

She feels him settle behind her, curling his body around hers and lifting her head so that it’s cushioned on his left arm.

“Cosy,” she says, wriggling slightly so that she’s comfortable - and closer. “Are you going to snuggle me to sleep?”

“Not exactly,” he says, and lowers his lips to her throat.

She half jumps out of her skin at that, but he doesn’t seem dissuaded, running a line of soft kisses from her ear to her collarbone and back until she relaxes against him, her head lolling against his arm as she allows him easier access.

“What are you doing?” she breathes out as his hand creeps over her belly, his palm hot against her breast. He stills, his hand going lax against her, and she arches into his touch. “I didn’t say stop.”

“Was it the running commentary you were after, Swan?” he asks, his scruff teasing the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Or merely a statement of intent?”

“Either. Both,” she says, pressing back against him as he nuzzles against her throat. “Is this a good idea?”

“You need to get a little more specific, love. It feels like a very good idea to me.”

He shifts his hips against her ass, and she almost moans when she feels how hard he is already. She’s been running on adrenaline for what feels like weeks now - thoughts of secret lives and surprise brothers and witches with jealousy issues filling her every waking moment - and it’s left her wound tight as a spring and ready to snap.

She almost had, back on the ship. The taste of the rum on his tongue (not _his_ tongue) and the hard planes of his body (not _his_ body) filling her with the desire to take and have and fuck everything except him and the pleasure he offered. Fuck everything _especially_ him, this man who plays her body like an instrument through fifteen layers of clothing and at least half a gallon of rum.

It would be nice, she thinks, just to take what she wants for once. Especially when it’s offered up on a platter like this, Killian rocking his hips against her, his fingers sure and firm as they knead her breast.

(But it’s a soggy, leafy sort of platter, and her not-parents are only feet away, and -

And maybe there are a thousand reasons why she shouldn’t, but maybe she just doesn’t care.)

“You worry too much,” he says, nipping at her pulse point and grinning at the shudder that runs through her in response. “But say the word, and I shall go take a walk and never speak of this again.”

“Don’t believe you,” she says, and places her hand over his, guiding it lower until they reach her skirts and helping him gather the material in his fist.

“Believe it or not,” he says, his voice cracking slightly as she uses both her hands as well as his own to ruck the front of her skirt up to the tops of her thighs. “I do possess a modicum of self-control.”

“Do you really,” she says, turning her head so that she can kiss his jaw, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she guides his hand to where she wants him. “That _is_ a shame.”

“Minx,” he teases, clever fingers making quick work of pushing her panties aside and moving to swallow her moan as he sinks two inside. “Hush now, Swan. You don’t want to get caught out now do you?”

He thumbs a slow circle over her clit as he speaks and she makes some incoherent sound in the back of her throat just loudly enough that Ruby stirs on the other side of the clearing.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” he breathes against her lips, as he twists his fingers, lifting his thumb away as she swivels her hips, searching for more friction than he seems willing to provide. “Promise me, Swan.”

She nods desperately, straining her neck as she tries to capture his lips with her own.

“Promise,” she mutters softly. “I promise, Killian. Please - ”

She doesn’t need to say anything else, his mouth coming down hard as he changes the angle of his fingers so that she can rock against him, the cold metal of his rings pressing against as he wind her higher and higher, only his tongue in her mouth stopping her crying out as he flicks at her clit, crooking his fingers until she’s squirming against him, her nose pressed to his neck, an elastic band made of desperation and need and please please just there please and -

The band snaps in a silent scream against his sweat slicked throat, and he groans his approval into her hair.

“I win,” she gasps as he strokes her through the aftershocks, her whole body trembling as the cool night air brushes her sensitive flesh. “Told you.”

“Very impressive,” he says, and the strain in his voice remind her that there’s still something very insistent pressed against her ass. “Next time, we’ll try this somewhere a little more private, aye?”

“Next time?” she places her hand on his as the sensations get a little uncomfortable, but doesn’t move to replace her skirts. Instead entwining her fingers with his slick ones, and squeezing. “You’re very sure of yourself.”

“Oh darling,” he says, lifting their joined hands until he can brush a kiss over her knuckles. “I absolutely am.”

–

**4\. First Date**

She lets him walk her home, lets him drape his new jacket over her shoulders and take her hand in his new hand, lets him tell her about the constellations and how she’s more beautiful than all of them, and the whole time she gazes at him with her eyes blown wide with something he daren’t name, her cheeks flushed from the cold.

“We’d best be getting back, love,” he says after they’ve lingered at the docks long enough to set her nipples straining against the dainty fabric of her dress and his self-control tumbling. “Your parents will be worried.”

“Why, because I’m out with a scoundrel?” she asks, her tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth as she looks up at him through long dark lashes. “Or because they think I might do something about it?”

He tries to laugh, but it dies in his throat as she leans against him, her palms flat against his new, thinner, vest as she lifts her chin to kiss him, her words barely a whisper against his parted lips,

“They ought to be.”

He tries to keep it chaste, tries not to answer the sweep of her tongue with his own, but then she’s sliding her hands down his body and his trousers are becoming more confining by the moment and -

“I don’t pillage and plunder on a first date,” she reminds him as she cups his burgeoning erection in her warm hand.

“So I recall,” he breathes, chasing her kiss as he cants his hips against her hand.

“So you’d better take me home,” she continues, moving to reach under his shirt, her fingernails raking against the skin of his stomach until they catch against the band of his trousers.

“Probably,” he sighs, hardly aware of the way she smiles against his neck as he turns his face to the sky. “But Swan, you’re not making it easy for a man here.”

“Of course,” she continues, her fingertips questing lower until he’s forced to ball his hands into fists at his sides just to resist the urge to ravish her against some filthy dockside warehouse. “A real scoundrel would know I have a fire escape against my bedroom window. And I’m _really_ bad at remembering to lock it.”

He pulls back, surprised.

“Is that so? I thought you had a rule.”

She grins, her eyes bright, lips kiss-bitten, and he wonders what he ever did to deserve this woman looking at him this way.

“I guess I hadn’t been out with you yet.”

–

He almost turns back when he hears the muted tones of her parents from behind the closed door, almost heads back to the Jolly for a flagon of rum and his own two hands. That would be good form, after all. She’s not a conquest, his Emma. Not a woman to be bedded and then left like some shameful little dalliance born of too much drink and not enough thought.

But then he thinks of her face - flushed and pretty - as she offered him a place in her bed, and of the way her eyes had shone as he’d asked for the honor of another ‘date’, and he knows he’ll never be the man who steals that smile from her lips. Not if he can help it.

And anyway, he’s only human.

The fire escape sways slightly under his weight, and he’s glad of the added grip of his newly returned left hand as he swings himself up to the highest window.

She’s left it open slightly, a flutter of gauzy curtain peeking out into the outside world. There’s a slight clatter from inside and a muffled oath, and then he hears her - voice low and sultry in a way he’s not at all used to.

“Are you coming?”

He pushes the window up with both hands, and swings himself into the room with as much dignity as he can manage - which is somewhat less than usual in this realm’s ‘jeans’.

“That is the plan, love,” he starts, grin wide, but then he stops, his whole body simultaneously going slack and roaring to life at the sight before him.

Emma sits against the headboard of her bed, clothed in nothing but the scattered moonlight from the window and waves of her golden hair that has been released from its bonds to cascade around her shoulders and over the swell of her breasts. Her legs are parted, one knee drawn up, so that he can see where she’s bare and pink and already glistening as she bites down on her lower lip and crooks a finger towards him.

“We’ll have to be quiet,” he hears her say, although it’s difficult to concentrate over the sound of his pulse rushing through his ears. “But Elsa snores like a truck so that should cover most of - ”

He can’t hold back a moment longer, her knee finds itself thrown over his shoulder as he dips his head to kiss her, his tongue writing sonnets against her most sensitive spots as she bucks beneath him.

She follows her own advice, only half stifled whimpers escaping her as he brings his hands into play, one spreading her wider while the other teases at her entrance, his own cock straining almost painfully against his zipper as she welcomes him inside.

Her fingers fist in his hair and he ruts helplessly against the floral bedspread, looking up from between her thighs to she her head thrown back, the tendons in her throat stark in the moonlight as she seeks her release and by the gods if she isn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He tells her as much, whispering his devotion against her as she shudders beneath him, pressing into her her skin with every twist of his fingers, every careful flick of his tongue.

She falls apart, but he’s the one who has fallen.

–

**5\. Gold’s Cabin**

_Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you_.

He says it like a sinner might at confession,  his voice barely more than a whisper, his words rough as though they’ve been torn from his very soul. Maybe they have, she thinks. Buried beneath centuries of anger and hate and loss, this little spark of hope he’s carried for so long finally being allowed out into the light. Vulnerable. Desperate.

She wishes she was a better person, a better lover. One who could soothe him with words of devotion and comfort, one who could take that little spark and treasure it until it became a blazing fire.

But he’s not the only one with a lifetime of baggage weighing down his soul, and he’s always been braver. His heart has never been a mystery, his words like poetry written just for her.

Well, Emma’s not much good with words.

She’s always been a woman of action.

His clothes are stiff from seawater, and she knows there’s more to the story there than she’s heard so far, and it makes it difficult to work the buttons loose on his vest, her fingers stuttering against his chest as she struggles to release them.

“Emma,” he whispers against her mouth, his hand resting over her own and stilling her attempts. “You don’t have to.”

She pulls back and eyes his vest critically.

“You’ve got a point,” she says. “Hold on.”

She wrinkles her nose in concentration, channeling her magic into her desires just the way Regina had tried to teach her. There’s a rush of warm air between them, and her lips curve into a smile when she sees the results.

The vest is gone, shirt too, and Killian is looking at her with wide, delighted eyes, a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“Been practicing that one love?”

“Oh,” she says, shrugging her jacket off before pressing her palms against the warm planes of his chest. “You have no idea.”

He laughs, and it sends warmth flooding through her, his hand and hook gentle at her waist as she walks him backward across the room to the small bed in the corner.

“Feel free to practice whenever you like,” he says as the back of his knees hit the side of the bed forcing him to sit and look up at her through long eyelashes as she kneels over him. “I’ve no complaints.”

“Such a fan of my magic,” she sighs and leans down to press her lips to his, removing the rest of the layers between them with a wave of her hand.

He groans into her mouth, his hand coming to rest against her ass as he slides the curve of his hook up the inside of her thigh, the cold metal making her gasp as he runs it along the crease of her hip.

“Every. Part,” he says, punctuating his words with a squeeze of her flesh, the hint of steel against where she’s aching for his touch.

She leans forward, slightly worried that he might catch himself with his own hook if she doesn’t, and takes his face in both her hands.

“I know,” she says, and rests her forehead against his, tries to force the words that won’t come until she’s left half pleading for an understanding. “Killian, I _know._ ”

His smile is a tremulous thing as she takes him in hand, his hook moving to settle against her ribcage as she slides herself against him, his breath catching as she lowers herself down and settles into the burn of him.

“Good,” he exhales, his body melting into her own until they’re so tightly pressed together not even magic can come between them. “Good.”

“I mean it,” she whispers into his ear as she rises and falls, the fire growing brighter with every grind of her hips, his teeth sharp against the juncture of neck and shoulder. “You must know I mean it.”

He smiles against the bruise he’s left behind, and she thinks that maybe – despite everything - he does.


End file.
